The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Sunday, 29 March 2015
170 words from here
The sparrows are back in the bush by the eaves after years of absence. Exultations of cheeps. Even under the marauding columns of rain coming up from the Atlantic reaches the gorse is a promissory vow. He loves me he loves me not. Yesterday, in the discussion, we spoke of plant medicine, ingestions of plant hallucinogens, shifts in perspective. I admitted, too, to my own experiences of psylocybin, magic mushrooms, gathered from the moor and eaten. I said too how benevolent plant spirits can also create new paradigms in the participant, even without ingestion. I didn't mention those hours I spent gazing, as a student all those years ago in a tall mediaeval building, on the grass below whose roots, through the clear haze offered by pure lysergic acid, performed a never-ending stately pavane beneath the lawn, and how nothing for me could ever be the same again. In the orchard, apple tree roots are awakening, beginning their new age-old dance. No inside no outside say the teachings.
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